


Good Boys Don't Pick Fights

by Unforth



Series: Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Collars, Consensual Somnophilia, Creature Castiel, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Jock Dean, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Octopus Castiel, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Seriously Bodies Don't Work This Way, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Spanking, Sub Dean, Switch Castiel, Tentacle Sex, Twink Castiel, impossible biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8267641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: They've been over this. Dean knows he shouldn't fight. No matter what the assholes on campus say about  Dean and Cas' relationship, Dean has GOT to learn to keep his temper. If Dean can't obey a simple command, Castiel will have to find more creative ways to punish his boy...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allrealities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrealities/gifts).



> My first prompt/commission fic! This was written for [gravyboot](http://gravyboot.tumblr.com/)/[allrealities](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allrealities/pseuds/allrealities). We discussed her prompt and refined it a little bit while chatting. Prompt is at the end of the story. :)

“Look at that little bitch boy,” scoffed the lead asshole. Castiel’s gaze flicked to Dean. They’d been over this. They’d been over this _repeatedly_. Dean’s spine went rigid, his shoulders tense, as he unsubtly struggled to keep his temper under control. “Doesn’t matter how you dress, Winchester, or what sports you play, only one kinda guy dates a tentacled freak.”

A low, angry noise boiled in Dean’s throat.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured a reprimand, reaching out with one of his arms, sneaking it beneath Dean’s loose t-shirt, and gently suctioning at the skin of Dean’s lower back. Through the contact he could feel Dean trembling with barely restrained anger. Reaching into his pocket, Castiel hit the button on the vibrating plug Dean wore. If measured words and tender touches wouldn’t keep Dean from picking a fight while they were in the middle of campus _and_ the middle of a scene, Castiel would assert his control in less publicly appropriate ways. The way Dean startled, just slightly, when Castiel stimulated him was delicious, the way Dean hid his reaction to the pleasure that must be coursing through him was gorgeous.

“Fine,” muttered Dean, spitting on the ground at the feet of the group of three jeering jerks. He turned away from the f assholes and their taunting laughter, and in doing so revealed Castiel’s touch against Dean’s back.

“Aww, little puppet is having his strings pulled. Look how _obedient_ the _good little boy_ is.” Asshole number two punched asshole number one in the arm in some assholey show of camaraderie.

Dean snapped, self-restraint flew out the window, and he charged, firsts flying.

Castiel sighed.

The lesson hadn’t taken.

Castiel would have to teach Dean _again._

At least Dean looked damn hot beating up three guys his own size.

* * *

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean mumbled miserably. Naked save for a thick collar and fluted plug, several purple bruises bloomed on Dean’s sides and one marred the delicate pink of the tattoo on Dean’s shoulder, carefully placed identically to where Castiel first left suction bruises on his boy’s arm.

“I know you are,” said Castiel. Sometimes it was a challenge to make his voice stern, but not today. He was pissed at the assholes for landing a few solid punches on Dean, pissed at them for co-opting words that Castiel used to give Dean pleasure, pissed at Dean for rising to the bait when he knew better. It wasn’t like the jerks who haunted campus knew Dean was Castiel’s sub; they just saw Castiel and Dean walking together and made assumptions. Anyone would make similar assumptions, given the contrast between Castiel’s slim torso and long tentacles, given the contrast between the half-human and the jock. Castiel still looked like a boy, though he was a freshman, and Dean was a senior and looked like a man, but when assholes saw tentacles, they inevitably thought that the octopus topped. It was a bullshit stereotype, even if it happened to be true in Dean and Castiel’s case. If Dean didn’t fly off the handle every time someone taunted him about it, the rumors would fade. Instead, Dean confirmed every negative assumption each damn time he couldn’t control his temper.

Part of Castiel wanted to soothe, wanted to heal, wanted to treat Dean’s wounds and offer kind words to Dean’s damaged ego and spare him further punishment. Part of Castiel thought surely Dean had suffered enough.

Castiel put that part off.

 _Later_.

Dean _knew_ that he had to keep his temper. He _knew_ the consequences for cracking. He _knew_ Castiel hated it when Dean fought.

Dena had acted out anyway. He’d willfully misbehaved. Punishment had to be swift, appropriate and merciless.

“You will be sorrier. On your knees, _boy_.” Dean shivered at the emphasis Castiel gave the word. “You are going to spend the evening as my table. A good table doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, accepts however its owner chooses to use it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel lifted one of his tentacles in the air and brought it down on Dean’s back with a whip-like snap. Dean gasped, back arching.

“I said, _do you understand_?”

Biting his tongue, Dean dropped onto his hands and knees, holding his back flat, and didn’t say a word.

“Good.”

Making a careful mental note of Dean’s exact position, Castiel left. There was dinner to make, the rest of the scene to prepare for, and one of Castiel’s favorite shows, “Deep Sea, Open Ocean,” was on. The program bored Dean to tears, so Castiel usually recorded it and watched it when they weren’t together, but Dean had lost all rights for at least the next few hours.

Anger leaked heat through Castiel’s tentacles, harsh red and orange pigment making splotches along the length of each arm. They were supposed to be having _dinner_. Dean was supposed to be on his knees next to Castiel, was supposed to be getting hand fed, was supposed to have the vibrator driving him crazy, was supposed to be getting pampered after getting through his midterms with an A- average. This evening had been intended as a _reward_. Castiel’s tentacles spread across the small dorm suite kitchen until only two supported his weight; the others turned on the oven, retrieved the preassembled lasagna from the oven, pulled the garlic bread from the freezer, moved the pie to the microwave to reheat. Castiel was still going to have a _nice damn evening_ and he’d show Dean _exactly_ what he’d missed out on. Maybe next time Dean would keep his damn temper.

As the aroma of melting cheese and simmering tomato sauce and warm apple pie permeated the suite, Castiel kicked the vibrator up a notch. Setting a timer, he passed through the living room, sparing Dean only the slightest of glances – his boy hadn’t moved, good – and headed to his dorm. It was theoretically a three person suite – three tiny singles with a shared living room and kitchen – but by the end of freshman year, nearly everyone was in relationships and Castiel’s former roommates had swapped to staying elsewhere, even though their names were still on the door here. It left Castiel and Dean free rein, which was fricken _awesome_. Blindly, Castiel reached a tentacle under his bed and suctioned onto the bin he kept there, pulling it out.

Within was the expensive collection of toys he’d assembled. His parents gave him little spending money, and his loans didn’t even cover his classes plus his room and board, but he had an unlimited allowance for his school books. Through diligent use of the library and careful scrimping and saving, Castiel had managed to justify spending nearly two hundred dollars a semester at “College Books,” which was the aptly named local adult goods store.

Opening the box, he considered his collection of plugs. Dean’s favorite was the largest of the three-plug stretcher set that Castiel had gotten when they first started dating. Dean had been so damn _proud_ the first time he’d taken the plug without needing to be stretched first – when Castiel had lubed the matt black length and pressed it into Dean’s hole in one smooth movement. With tender touches and rough bites, Castiel had teased Dean into incoherence that night as a reward before finally letting him come. When Castiel was pleased with Dean, he used that plug.

So, not the plug for today.

There were the small, inadequate plugs from the stretcher set; there was a glass plug that Dean hadn’t liked the weight of; there was the hooked plug that Dean used on Castiel when Castiel wanted a toy guaranteed to hit his prostate; there was the tentacle-shaped plug that Dean had gotten him as a gag gift; there was the plug Dean currently wore, which was average in every respect and thus appropriate for every day play. And then there was the surprise. Castiel hadn’t used the big plug yet, as thick around than two of Castiel’s tentacles and intimidatingly long. Undeniably, Dean had a size kink and loved being thoroughly used but the plan forming in Castiel’s mind would push even Dean’s limits.

Good.

Smiling, Castiel grabbed the large toy, poured a liberal amount of lubricant onto it, and returned to the living room. Dean hadn’t moved. Short strands of hair brushed the floor beneath his hanging head; his limp cock and chill-tightened balls dangled, swaying slightly with each inhale and exhale.

Very good.

Castiel turned on the television and set the remote on Dean’s shoulder, brushing his side with a tentacle as a modest reward for his good behavior. Dean’s eyes were open but sightless. The need to maintain his position despite the pain of his bruises and the pleasure vibrating through him had already rendered him distant. Curious to see if he could prompt a reaction, Castiel settled on to the couch and toyed with the remote for the vibrator Dean wore, amping it up, slowing it down, but though Dean’s cock thickened and dripped pre-release on the carpet, he didn’t move.

 _Perfect_.

With a pleased noise he couldn’t repress, Castiel turned the vibration off, yanked the plug out of Dean’s ass and pressed the new, large one hard against Dean’s hole. The first couple inches of the tapered tip sank in easily but as the toy thickened, Dean’s body strained. A broken noise that Dean obviously attempted to repress escaped him. Castiel made a scolding noise, Dean whimpered, and in one rough shove Castiel pushed the entire large plug into Dean’s body.

Dean _didn’t fucking move_.

But he was still whimpering.

“This table is unpleasantly noisy,” Castiel said harshly. Grabbing the base of the plug in one hand, he looped a tentacle around Dean’s throat, double row of suction cups puckering Dean’s skin, and tightened his hold until he could hear the faint wheeze of Dean straining to breathe. Only then did he pull the toy back and thrust it in again. A glob of lubricant shimmered as it trailed coldly down Dean’s perineum. Dean’s body stiffened but he otherwise held still. Castiel loosened his hold on Dean’s neck, let him breathe normally a few times, then tightened his hold again and thrust again, loosened, tightened, thrust, again, again, until Dean was so hard his cock dripped.

But he didn’t make a sound.

And he didn’t move.

With a growl, Castiel wrapped a second tentacle around Dean’s neck and tightened his grasp. Breath play was dangerous, potentially lethal, but they’d practiced it more than once and Castiel knew that as long as he kept his self-control, as long as he didn’t try to fuck Dean himself while playing this game, he could stop in time. Counting seconds under his breath, he ruthlessly fucked Dean with the toy, staring in awe at how stretched and red Dean’s rim got as it pulled over the thickest part of the toy. When he’d counted off 20, he released his hold and shoved the plug in as deeply as it would go, backing off so that he could watch Dean’s reaction. Arousal buzzed around and within Castiel like a swarm of bees.

Dean’s chest heaved, his arms and legs trembled, but he held his position. The remote balanced on his shoulder shook but didn’t fall. Red circles beautiful decorated the skin above and below his collar; Dean would have to wear a turtleneck for a week. Beneath Dean, come made a goopy mess, slowly soaking wet into the carpet.

Heat coursed through Castiel. Dean had _come_ without breaking his orders. Absolutely incredible. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, no words forthcoming. Instinct screamed for Castiel to replace the toy with his penile tentacle but he couldn’t, not yet. Dean needed time to recover, needed time for his limbs to steady and his heart rate to slow and his cock to grow flaccid and his glazed eyes to lighten. Still, Castiel had to touch, had to praise, at least a little. As gone as he was, Dean might not hear the words, but Castiel had to say them regardless.

Leaning forward, Castiel trailed his slickened fingers up Dean’s spine, wrapped tentacles supportively around each thigh, his middle, released his throat to tease tenderly at one ear. He ghosted a kiss over Dean’s forehead, pleased by the red flush of Dean’s cheeks, the unevenness of his breathing, and his wide, sightless eyes, pupils dilated nearly full black.

“They wish they knew how obedient my good boy is,” Castiel whispered.

Dean didn’t react.

“I have the nicest furniture in Jefferson Hall.”

A faint smell of burning snagged Castiel’s attention. Tsking under his breath, he released Dean and went to check on dinner.

The evening passed peacefully after that. Dean, sunk deep in whatever mental place he went to when they did scenes, found the inner peace he needed to maintain his position. He didn’t move when Castiel set his hot plate of food on Dean’s back. He didn’t move when Castiel “accidentally” dropped a pungent forkful of food onto Dean’s cheek. He didn’t move when the lasagna skimmed over his lips and fell to the floor, not even to lick the flavorful tomato sauce away, not even when Dean’s stomach grumbled loudly. He didn’t move when Castiel lounged on the couch, coiled his tentacles together into a thick bundle and used Dean as the octopus equivalent of a foot rest. He didn’t move when Castiel moaned and groaned through each bite of a delicious slice of pie. He didn’t move when, from time to time, Castiel reached a tentacle around to play at Dean’s rim, nudge the plug, suction at Dean’s balls and shaft, tease him just enough to keep Dean hard. He didn’t move, hardly even blinked, didn’t try to look, even when the divers on “Deep Sea, Open Ocean,” got rare footage of a giant squid. Castiel would have said the giant squid was the coolest damn thing he’d ever seen, but that’d be a lie.

Dean was the coolest damn thing Castiel had ever seen.

Every once in a while Castiel actually got it into his head that he couldn’t find Dean any more perfect. Sure, the jock was built, he had a great body, he had a sassy mouth on him, and he became so damn soft and pliant when he was collared into submission. He was up for trying any kink, and he never waited for Castiel to come to him with ideas. If Dean saw something he wanted to try, he’d blush in the cutest damn way and…

…fuck, Dean was _irresistible_.

Tentacles whipping around lightning fast, Castiel jerked the plug out of Dean’s ass and replaced it with a single deep thrust of his hectocotylus – his cock. Heat and wetness loosely surrounded the sensitive organ and with a low groan, Castiel fucked the tentacle deep into Dean’s ass. Dean was hard again but his only visible reaction beyond the thickening of his cock was his jaw going slack, a bead of spittle leaking down to the floor. His body rocked in time to Castiel’s aggressive thrusts. Dean was so damn _open_ , so thoroughly lubed, that Castiel’s cock slid in and out of his body easily, so easily. Temptation battled with sense as Castiel toyed a second tentacle at Dean’s rim. He had plans…it was too early…

“Don’t come,” he growled, voice incongruously low and guttural from his slim form. “Don’t you… _dare_ …come. I let you have one, but I’ve got…I’ve got plans for you, boy…good boy…beautiful boy…” He groaned, slowing his strokes, driving in deeper. He could swear he could see the skin of Dean’s lower back puckering and stretching as the tentacle moved within him. Dean’s rim flexed tight and awesome, squeezing Castiel in a way that drove him crazy; Castiel threw his head back, panting, sweat streaking his brow. “ _Awesome_ table – nicest damn table I’ve ever…” A pulse of pure _bliss_ streaked up Castiel’s tentacles, spread and amplified as it coursed through every arm, every limb, throbbed behind his eyes. Tension wracked Dean’s body, his hole clenching more and more tightly against Castiel’s vigorously working cock. Castiel groaned, thrusting, thrusting, God, it felt so fucking _good_. “Dean…my _perfect_ …fuck…fuck toy…good boy…good boy…always such a good boy…don’t you…don’t you…gonna ride you after this, ride you til you scream…wanna feel that cock in me, wanna drip with it…”

The room whited out as sensation inundated Castiel and with a final, deep thrust he came, spurting copiously deep into Dean’s body. For a glorious instant there was nothing but intense pleasure, all Castiel’s awareness reduced to the way his throbbing cock pulsed against the tightness within Dean. Then, a sound broke through his bliss. Over the rushing sound of blood in his ears, it was a faint but incongruous click. Forcing himself back to the moment, forcing his awareness outward instead of inward, Castiel checked on his boy.

Dean still knelt and Castiel’s hectocotylus was still buried deep within him. Thin come leaked steadily from Dean’s hole, coating his thighs and making an ever-growing wet spot on the carpet. Fresh come stained the spot beneath Dean’s cock and the sound…Castiel’s gaze lazily slid up Dean’s flushed body, took in the sweat pooling at the small of Dean’s back and the violent trembling of his arms, until his saw Dean’s face. Tears streaked his cheeks and he sniffled, lip caught between two teeth in a futile effort to keep silent. His eyes were puffy, reddened, and depressingly _present_.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “I told you not to come.” Castiel pulled his tentacle free; come burbled out, rivulets coursing over Dean’s filthy skin. Empty, Dean collapsed to the floor, shaking violently.

“I know,” Dean whimpered. “I know, I…” He gasped, tried to fight the words back, failed. “I know, I know, sir, I’m sorry, so sorry…” God, he was sniveling. “I’m sorry, sir.” With anyone else, Castiel would have been angry. But Dean was always so obedient, always so good, always tried so _incredibly_ hard. For Dean to be reduced to such a state? He hadn’t failed because he didn’t try.

Making low soothing sounds, Castiel glided to the floor and encompassed Dean in tentacles.

“No, no – don’t – I don’t deserve – I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Castiel promised, breathing the words directly into Dean’s ear. Dean wasn’t normally so emotionally volatile, either, but he was always unsteady after a fight, and the scene must have really gotten to him. Dean shook his head, but Castiel ignored him and wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s chest, cradling him. “What happened?”

“You…you punished me, sir, but you still wanted to…to…I—”  Dean gulped air and coughed raggedly, splattering the carpet before him with mucus and spit. “I can’t. I can’t right now. Castiel, I…I _can’t_.”

Alarmed, Castiel pulled away, withdrew contact. Dean wailed and curled in on himself.

_I have to help him. I have to catch him before his falls. How did this go so wrong so quickly?_

“Do you need to safe word?” The question came out harsher than Castiel intended but he had to ask, couldn’t move to help Dean until he had a firm answer.

“No!”

“Then what do you need?”

Shaking his head, Dean sobbed. With their positions clarified – if Dean wasn’t using his safe word than this was still a scene, Dean was still his sub, Castiel was still Dean’s dom – Castiel acted, seizing Dean in powerful tentacles, forcing them face to face. Dean looked shattered, agonized, beautiful and vulnerable and though Castiel was glad he’d not hurt Dean badly enough that he’d needed to shout “Poughkeepsie,” he was disappointed that he’d not be able to begin taking care of his boy right away.

Dean was Castiel’s boy, would always be his boy, no matter their relative sizes and ages.

“You…” Dean coughed, spat on the floor, licked his lips, and tried again. Castiel idly used a tentacle to wipe some of the moisture from Dean’s face and sweep away the hair matted to his forehead. “You said you had a plan…said you’d…you’d ride me…I didn’t mean to ruin it…I tried, I really tried…”

“Shh.” Gently, Castiel suctioned double rows of puckers to Dean’s skin and released in a rippling wave along each of his eight tentacles, surrounding Dean in calming touches and soothing reminders that Castiel had already forgiven his transgression. “You didn’t ruin anything. You took your punishment well. You were a very good table.”

“But—”

Scowling, Castiel slapped a tentacle directly over Dean’s hole. “I said you were a very good table. What do you say?”

“I…I was a very good table, sir,” echoed Dean. Castiel fricken _hated_ Dean’s habit of deflecting compliments. He’d break Dean of that if it was the last damn thing he did.

“And?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good boy.”

With a deflating sigh, Dean collapsed in on himself, giving his weight over entirely to Castiel’s hold. It was a strange dichotomy that Dean was larger than Castiel, yet so much weaker. The tentacles were muscular, and Castiel could lift far more than his weight; carrying Dean was child’s play. Drawing Dean close to him, Castiel cradled him, using tender touches and indistinct sounds to ease the boy calm as the pleasant song that played over the end credits of “Deep Sea, Open Ocean” filled the room. Castiel reluctantly used one tentacle to grope across the carpet until he found the remote, and turned the television off.

“I hate that show,” Dean muttered. Castiel smacked Dean’s hole again, and Dean moaned softly. Encouraged by the moan – and by the return of Dean’s usual sassiness – Castiel hit him again. Tensing, Dean strained against Castiel’s hold. Annoyed, Castiel used three tentacles to hit Dean simultaneously on each of his ass cheeks and directly on his balls. Dean gasped, back arching, and then went limp.

“If I’m going to ride you, the naughty boy needs to get hard again,” said Castiel, administering another spank and latching on with his suckers, bruising hickies into the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner thighs. Dean whimpered but didn’t try to resist. “We’ve never gone for three times.” Castiel turned a tentacle so that he was hitting with the smooth outer topside instead of the suckered bottom and slapped Dean hard directly over his new bruises. “Do you think you can?”

“For you, sir, I—” Dean broke off with a gasp as Castiel simultaneously thrust a tentacle into his loosened hole and slapped him again. Eyes rolling back, Dean’s mouth dropped and his hips pivoted against the tentacle within him. Deeper and deeper Castiel delved; though it wasn’t his cock, _any_ tentacle in Dean felt good, the clench and heat billowing nascent pleasure through Castiel’s body, renewing his arousal. As stretched as Dean was, Castiel intended to see how far he could push. Deeper he went, deeper still, a foot of his tentacle vanishing into Dean’s red, stretched ass, deeper than Castiel had ever filled Dean before.

“Oh – oh – what’re you – how—” Dean babbled and groaned as Castiel pushed in further. Castiel’s movements slowed. He’d never tried anything like this, never read of anyone else trying either, and he wasn’t sure how far into Dean’s body he could go before hurting him. Half-octopi could be penetrated quite deeply, but their digestive systems were structured differently than humans. Feeling within Dean’s body, the tip of Castiel’s tentacle made a turn, went further, a foot, two feet. He wasn’t imagining it this time – there was a definite bulge to Dean’s belly, a bulge that moved and shifted as Castiel continued his tentative exploration. Dean’s eyes were open wide, mouth slack, already falling back into ready submission. A ripple of muscles clenched in Dean’s abs, his stomach, his belly, his ass, and Castiel felt it all along his length.

It felt fucking _amazing_.

Finally, an unknown barrier prevented him from going further, but Castiel didn’t worry about it. Dean clearly wasn’t in pain. The tentacle twisted and turned several feet into Dean’s body, impaling him, and Dean shivered with sensation, limp in Castiel’s grasp, cock twitching.

Castiel wanted to thrust. He wanted to use more tentacles to pull Dean’s ass open wider, stretch him to his limit, suction directly onto the nub of his prostate and drive him crazy, drive them both crazy. Arousal buzzed hot and cold in turns through Castiel’s body. Dean was letting him do this. Dean let him do anything. Dean fucking _loved_ letting Castiel do anything, letting Castiel use him.

But Dean was still only human and his body needed time to adjust.

Someday, Castiel would figure out how, at 18, he’d already been lucky enough to meet someone so perfectly suited to him.

Castiel waited. He waited as his thoughts screamed for him to proceed, waited as Dean’s cock slowly thickened, darkened, his balls tightened, waited until every breath Dean took was a gasp, waited until Dean’s hips involuntarily twitched, trying to force Castiel to move. That earned him a spank. Dean jerked, groaned, and Castiel spanked him again, again, keeping him spitted on the tentacle, other tentacles binding Dean’s arms, his legs, holding him suspended. Castiel hit him until his ass cheeks were red, until Dean’s rim clenched against the wrist-thick tentacle within him, until Dean’s eyes were dark and distant and his cock was hard and leaking.

With a growl, Castiel finally gave rein to his desire. In one smooth motion, he slammed Dean’s body to the ground, rolled Dean to his back, straddled him. Two tentacles tugged at Dean’s rim, two others holding Dean’s ankles to spread his legs as wide apart as they would go. His cock teased at Dean’s lips and Dean’s mouth fell open, allowing Castiel in. No lubricant was needed as Castiel used a fifth tentacle to guide Dean’s cock into Castiel’s hole; the rigors of under-sea excretion meant that half-octopi had evolved internal lubrication. Dean’s jaw dropped further and Castiel drove his hectocotylus down Dean’s throat until Dean gagged around him. Two more tentacles played at Dean’s hole, and Castiel used his hands to seize Dean’s arms and pin him down.

For a breathless moment they froze in tableau, Dean completely helpless beneath Castiel, completely submissive, completely dominated.

Then Castiel _moved_.

His hips thrust up, surged down. The tentacle buried deep within Dean undulated, a second stretched Dean wide and latched the promised suction cup onto Dean’s prostate, twisting and massaging. Castiel’s cock ruthlessly fucked Dean’s mouth, intermittently choking him, and Dean’s ass spread wide, wider, around three tentacles, four, more than Dean had ever taken, more than Castiel had ever dreamed Dean could take. It felt glorious and insane, beyond good, beyond blissful, into rapturous. Castiel would never again make the mistake of thinking he knew what his boy was capable of.

Eyes closed, face beaded with sweat, Dean jerked and twitched, twisted and bucked at every stimuli. Castiel didn’t bother remonstrating him; Dean was gone, and nothing Castiel said would get through to him. Castiel didn’t want Dean to stop. He loved seeing his boy completely out of control, pleasured insensible. Castiel didn’t bother lifting and lowering himself. His tentacles were better used slowly opening Dean wider and wider, the pressure on the sensitive limbs intense and awesome, so instead Castiel pivoted his hips, backward, forward, backward, forward, dragging Dean’s cock over Castiel’s prostate, larger than a human’s and located at the juncture between his hectocotylus tentacle and his torso.

“Yes,” Castiel whispered, or at least he thought he said it aloud. Every movement of a tentacle, every thrust and twist and pulse within Dean’s hole, every lick of Dean’s tongue against Castiel’s cock, every sound that leaked unbidden from either of them, was merely an extension of the pleasure suffusing Castiel, the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt in his young life.

Dean strained against Castiel’s weight, arm muscles flexing as he jerked against the tentacles binding his arms, and with a guttural broken scream that sent vibrations cascading through Castiel’s body, Dean climaxed, hips rolling. The clench around Castiel’s tentacles was too much; he withdrew one, than a second, from Dean’s ass, but that still left three forcing Dean’s hole wide open, three fucking him at different tempos, deep and shallow and hard and soft, one latched onto to his prostate. Dean’s orgasm went on and on until he thrashed with overstimulation, skin spasming, pathetic moans and mewls and whimpers choking against Castiel’s hectocotylus as Castiel thrust deep into Dean’s mouth.

Castiel came all at once, orgasm hitting him like a fucking tidal wave. He barely got his cock out of Dean’s mouth before come poured out, splashing Dean’s cheeks, chin, coating his hair. As gone as Dean was, Castiel didn’t dare fill his mouth, wouldn’t risk choking him, but that was the most cognitive planning Castiel could manage. Heavy groaning pants escaped him, maybe forming words, he was too gone to tell anymore, and he jerked his hips to rub Dean’s cock within him, tentacles swelling with his pleasure.

Unknown moments passed as Castiel floated on the waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed around him. Dean was limp beneath him, stuffed full, cock softening within Castiel, filthy with sweat and lube and come. The room was over-hot, loud with desperate, synced breathing.

“Dean?” Castiel’s mouth formed the word but no sound came out. He swallowed, trying to work moisture back into his parched throat. “Dean, are you alright?”

Dean’s lips barely moved, no sound escaping beyond a few incoherent whispers. His tongue flicked out, licked a splash of come from his upper lip, and Dean sighed, a sound Castiel knew well, replete with happiness and bliss.

“That was amazing,” Castiel said. Dean’s eyes flicked open, pupils spreading and shrinking as he struggled to focus on Castiel’s face, and his lips spread into a dopey smile. “Dean, you’re perfect. I’m going to take care of you now, okay?” He reached around and, with fumbling fingers, took an embarrassingly long time to unclasp Dean’s collar.

“Thanks, Casssssss.” Dean giggled, words slurring, and slumped against the floor.

* * *

Dean was deeply asleep, tucked warm and snug into bed, when Castiel finally joined him. The scene had necessitated a lot of clean up. Dean’s needs came first, of course. Castiel set a plate of lasagna and a slice of pie to reheat in the oven while he tenderly cleaned Dean, lavishing him with praise and affection. It was over the top, but Dean loved being coddled and could only accept it after a rigorous scene.

If he was completely honest with himself, Castiel had to admit that he was the same. He loved coddling Dean, but could only justify doing so after a rigorous scene.

The whole while, Dean blushed and smiled, mute with pleasure and satisfaction. When he was clean and dressed in soft, worn flannel PJs, Castiel fed him, tentacles massaging and soothing any place that might ache either from Dean’s earlier fight or from their scene. By the time Dean dutifully swallowed the last bite of pie and washed it down with a sip of milk, his eyes were half-lidded and he swayed with the effort of sitting up. Castiel carried him to bed, snuggled close to him, and stayed until Dean was fast asleep.

He was so beautiful.

When Dean’s breathing evened and his body relaxed into the narrow mattress of the dormitory bed, Castiel went out to the living and cleaned up the stains their activities had left behind, washed the dishes, tossed together a casserole for breakfast, and prepared for the next morning. Only when he was sure that Dean would have nothing to worry about when he woke up in the morning did Castiel return to bed.

Flicking hair off Dean’s forehead with a negligent tentacle, Castiel let the warm glow in his chest grow, let himself for the first time think on what that feeling might mean. Every instinct was to cherish, to protect, to care for, to spend time with, to have sex with, to place himself in the center of Dean’s world, to make Dean the center of Castiel’s world.

_Is this what love is?_

It was a confusing muddle of affection and lust and friendship, care and contentment and concern all wrapped up in one.

Heated through, confused and unsure but happy, Castiel crowded onto the bed beside Dean, enwrapping him in tentacles, snugging his body against Dean’s back. After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped his cock into Dean’s pants, pressed easily into Dean’s stretched hole. Dean moaned softly, pivoted his hips back, shimmied closer to Castiel, grasped one of Castiel’s tentacles in a gentle handhold. That tentative glow burgeoned, physical and emotional pleasure glorious entwining, and Castiel sighed happily.

“I love you,” he whispered into the dark, quiet dorm room.

“Love you,” Dean mumbled, words garbled with sleep.

Profoundly happy, profoundly content, Castiel fell asleep lazily fucking perfect Dean’s perfect ass.

**Author's Note:**

> You can learn more about getting your own prompt/commission fic on my blog at [unforth-ninawaters on Tumblr](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> Prompt:  
> gravyboot: dom as fuck!twink!cas & happy subby dean, I don't care if they're like 2 years or 20 years apart, they can switch up the bottoming/topping or not, I don't care (tho I can totally see Cas pretending dean's his dildo to ride as he sees fit til he tells him he can finish, ngl). I was sitting here going ok so she's already writing tentacles, what do I love besides that?
> 
> unforth: I will ponder and aim for getting this done next week. And in truth...I'd happily write more tentacles. Can dom as fuck twink Cas have tentacles?? He rides Dean's dick while tentacle fucking his ass?
> 
> gravyboot: he absolutely can. hahahahaha OMG do it do it. I do also love overstimulation, so maybe he doesn't get to say if he gets to STOP coming, unless that doesn't fit. AHA last one: I can't remember if I've ever read any octocas wrapping a tentacle around his neck.
> 
> So...those were the elements I included, plus some more just for fun. :) I don't think I've ever worked this many kinks into a story this short, lol...


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